


The Usual

by Stark_Black



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, i don't know how to write Eridan, written for request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark_Black/pseuds/Stark_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sollux works in a coffee shop. Eridan is a regular. Response to a request on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Usual

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit that of all the Homestuck parings, this is the one I don’t really understand. I don’t dislike it, but it seems a little strange to me judging by how the two act toward each other (and certain things that went down a couple acts back). It obviously works Black, but I read them a lot in Red so… bluh. Anyway, since I’m not ready to write Black yet, and I’m trying to make things as easy for me as possible through this spat of writer’s block, I think the only way that this drabble is going to happen is if it’s in an AU setting.

He comes every day.

He comes into the shop with his books and his hipster scarf and glasses and orders his iced latte with soy. He wears skinny jeans, has a color streak in his hair, and he paints his nails. You’ve even seen him wearing lip gloss. No, not lip balm, lip _gloss_. The shimmery shit. He’s a snob with an indifferent attitude and a master at silent condescension. He ignores everything and everyone, especially you. 

You fucking love it.

Christ if he doesn’t make your heart beat faster the moment he steps through that door.

Karkat would chew off half your face if he knew you made shojo eyes at such a tool five days out of the week, but you really can’t help it. He’s the best part of your day.

_He should be modeling_ , you think to yourself as you slide the cash drawer shut. _People that perfect looking don’t need to go to school…_

Your current customer smiles sweetly at you and moves to collect her coffee. The day has been slow so far, even into the evening. The quarter is almost out and everyone is either studying for their finals, or has finished already and they’re now home getting stupid.

Karkat sent you a text about an hour ago asking when you were off—in his own way of course.

KK: STRIDER CAN KISS MY NUTS AND JUMP INTO AN EMPTY ELEVATOR SHAFT FOR ALL I CARE, BUT HIS IDIOT BROTHER CAN MIX A HELL OF A MOTHERFUCKING DRINK.

You responded in kind.

TA: have you guy2 boned yet?  
KK: YES. AND NOW I’M PREGNANT WITH MUTANT FUCKING STRIDER BABIES. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?  
TA: ii get off at 9  
KK: FUCK YOU. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO FOR TWO HOURS?  
TA: talk to dave about your chiildren’s future  
KK: I HATE YOU.  
TA: ii know, see you later  
KK: LATER ASSFACE.

Smirking, you collect a rag and start wiping down the counter. As you squat to grab a handful of mints to refill the bowl by the register, the bells on the door chime. You peek over the countertop and almost shoot up like a fucking whack-a-mole when you see who it is.

He’s wearing a vest this time, and tight slacks. The scarf is draped around his neck; he must never leave home without it. His boots even have a little heel.

You’re ready to take his order. Your “Hi what can I get for you!”—even though you know his order by heart—is sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he stops once he’s inside. He’s texting. 

A small frown pinches the perfect features of his face and you feel something tighten in your gut. Something’s wrong, it’s obvious. You watch him run slim fingers across his forehead and frantically press buttons on his smartphone. He looks up and out the window and your heart thumps hard in your chest at the look in his eyes. 

Someone that beautiful should never look that lonely.

You make like you’re busy, not wanting a patron, or possibly your boss, catching you ogling the hipster in the doorway like some super fat kid in a cake shop. You make like wiping down the counters is an art form; arranging the single coffee packets is a science.

You hear his phone beep and watch out the corner of your eye as he reads the new message. His shoulders sag and you have to try really fucking hard not to be a creeper and ask if he’s okay.

He moves to the table in the corner and sits. He places the phone down and slips his hands between his thighs. You watch him stare out the window again, that acing feeling in your chest doing nothing but getting stronger and more unbearable with every moment.

Half of you hopes he just got dumped, and the other half wants to punch yourself in the face for being such a dick. 

Ignoring your inner turmoil, you move to the machine and pull a cup from the stack. As you scoop ice from the case and open the cooler to grab the soy, a voice startles you out of your smooth and practiced movements.

“Sollux? What are you doing?”

Your head whips around so fast you’re positive you’ve pulled a muscle. Aradia is there, confusion written across her pretty face.

“Doing?” you repeat. You look at the cup in your hand. Oh, shit.

“I’m doing nothing. Thith ith nothing.”

Her eyes are sweet and don’t judge you, but her head tilts inquiringly. “Is that for your guy? The one with the scarf?”

Wow, well that’s not embarrassing in any way at all.

“Would you believe me if I thaid no?”

She shakes her head and smiles, “No.”

You pout. “Thcrew you then.”

Aradia giggles and waves a hand dismissively. She turns back to the pastry cabinet and continues replenishing the cheese croissants. “Why don’t you take a break? It’s time for your break, isn’t it?”

You grumble and slam the lid to the cooler a little harder than necessary, but you’re thankful and she knows it. You two have been friends forever. She probably knows you better than you do.

Your hands are definitely shaking as you come out from behind the counter. The iced latte is heavy in your grasp. What if he doesn’t want it? This is what he always gets but what if he’s tired of it? What if this one time he was going to get something else? 

Fuck, too late now. You’re at his table.

You move in slowly and set the drink on the polished wood. 

His eyes go wide as he takes in what’s just been offered to him. When he looks up at you, your body freezes and your mouth starts doing a damn good impression of a desert fucking wasteland.

There’s a moment where the two of you just stare at each other. It’s much too long to be comfortable and entirely too short because oh, Jesus H Dick, his eyes are so violet. Holy shit. 

“Um…” he says softly, “What is this?”

You shrug and your muscles are sandpaper against your bones. “Ithed latte. Thoy. Your uthual.” _Fuck! Fuck your fucking lisp!_

He looks down at the drink and then back up at you. “You know my drink?”

“Yeah,” _because I’m a fucking nasty stalker,_ “we try and know all the regularth drinkth.”

“Oh,” he seems disappointed, but that could just be your wishful thinking. When he reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet, you hold up your hands.

“No, no charge.” You glance at his phone lying silent on the table. “You looked like you were having a thitty day or thomething.” 

His eyes widen further. God damnit, why is he so cute? 

“Really? Is this… okay?”

You shrug again, easier this time. “Thure. No oneth gonna know.” 

He looks back down at the drink and takes it carefully in his hands. His nails are blue today. He takes a sip and smiles. His eyes turn back to you and this time he looks at you through his lashes. Pink tinges his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

“Thank you…”

Shit, why does he look like no one’s ever been nice to him before?

“Well,” you scratch at your chin, “uh, gotta get back. I hope… everything workth out for you.”

He nods and his smile is soft and a little sad.

The rest of your shift goes ridiculously fast. You don’t remember a goddamn thing you did besides steal glances at your hipster boy sipping on the drink you made him. You like to think the reason he looks less depressed then when he came in is because of you, but whatever. That’s stupid.

Twenty minutes before you’re due to clock out, he’s at the counter and you’re practically shitting your pants.

“Can I… help you?” you ask.

Oh, that blush. _Oooooh that fucking blush._ He isn’t real. He can’t be real he’s too fucking adorable and sexy _holymotherofgodwhatareyoudoingwithyourlife—_

He says nothing and slides a small slip of paper across the counter. His eyes are a quick flash of violet that search onto yours for the barest of moments…

…and then he’s gone. 

You’re almost shaking watching him go. Your limbs are trembling. Your heart can’t take the beating it’s receiving on the inside of your ribcage.

“What’s that?” Aradia asks.

“What?” you murmur.

“What did he give you?”

Oh. You had forgotten the piece of paper. How the fuck could you have forgotten the piece of paper? You pick it up and glance over the neat scrawl:

_Eridan,  
323-555-0132_

You jam the paper into your pocket, gently batting away Aradia’s attempts to steal it. She pouts, but it’s not like she doesn’t know what it is. She gives you a thumbs-up when she leaves you to close up.

And you do so with a grin on your face.

END


End file.
